


Tell Him

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco wants Harry to tell him what he truly wants most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Him

**Author's Note:**

> JK Rowling owns the characters of Harry Potter; I just like to write here. No infringement is intended.

_Tell me what you want._

The card was propped on Harry’s pillow, and he quickly picked it up and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans before Ron or Seamus noticed. There was no signature, but Harry didn’t need to see one; he knew exactly who this was from. He knew the handwriting well, and he suspected that his roommates would as well if they saw it. After managing to keep this secret through this eighth year of schooling, the last thing Harry wanted to do was let the secret slip, so close to graduation.

He had to wait while they all changed out of the Muggle clothes they’d worn into Hogsmeade earlier and back into proper robes.  He waved the others on as they headed out for dinner, claiming he had to find something in his notes. As soon as they were gone, he pulled the card from the pocket of his jeans, tossing them back into his laundry pile.  Grabbing a quill, he wrote on the card, _I want you to suck me._

The words were there, bright and bold against the parchment, then they faded leaving the card blank until new words appeared.

 _Tell me what you_ _really_ _want_.

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, his prick starting to thicken and ache as he dipped his quill in the ink pot and tried not to let it spill, his hand shaking as he responded: _I want to see your pale hair against my naked thighs. I want your tongue on my prick. I want—_

He left a jagged scrawl on the paper as he thought ahead and didn’t write, having difficulty putting words to parchment.

Again the words disappeared, replaced by only one: _Yes?_

Tongue caught between his teeth, Harry groaned. One hand snuck into his lap, rubbing at his prick with the heel of his hand as he carefully wrote _I want your finger in my arse._

He could almost imagine the soft laughter as new words appeared. _Only my finger?_

Harry hesitated, quill above the card but not writing.

 _Tell me what you want,_ the card ordered.

The words were larger now, as if speaking louder, and covered most of the surface of the card. Barely any space was left for Harry’s reply. He reached into his robes, stroking himself in earnest now, vivid imagination supplying the scene for him as he wrote _I want you to fuck me_.

His hand rolled over the head of his cock, pulling roughly, needing to come before he went down to dinner.

The card went blank and one word flashed: _Better_. It was quickly replaced, though. _There’s something you’re not saying, Harry. But you’ll tell me later._

Harry whimpered as it blanked again before words appeared: _Stop touching yourself. Come down to dinner hard. You can come after you’ve told me what you really want._

But Harry _had_ told him, he was sure of it, because oh fuck, just thinking about what he wanted was almost enough… with a loud groan, Harry shoved his robes down over himself, covering up his thick cock. He tried to think of anything he could to make himself soft. Ugly women. Boring lectures. Voldemort.

It took him fifteen minutes before he dared to walk out of the room and head down to dinner. He was late, and he saw the smirk sent in his direction from the Slytherin table as he walked in and took his seat.

The calculating look in those grey eyes almost did him in all over again. Dinner had never seemed so long.

#

Harry had made excuses again after dinner, holding up his bag of books and muttering something about the library before he headed off. He heard Ron behind him complaining about how much time Harry was spending in the library that year, and Hermione chiding Ron that if _he_ did the same, he’d have a better chance of passing his NEWTs.

Not that Harry planned to go anywhere near the library.  He climbed the stairs up into the Astronomy tower, well aware of the irony of this particular location as he pushed open the door to one of the study rooms.

“Close the door, and make certain we’re private here. I’ve heard at least two others climb up into the tower for study tonight.” The voice was soft and dry, words clipped as he gave Harry his orders.

Harry spotted him in the shadows, pale skin shining in the faint moonlight that came in through the one narrow window. His robes were half undone, exposing his throat and chest. Harry wanted to walk over, slide his hands under those robes, touch that pale skin… but he had been given a command. So Harry turned to the door and closed it securely, then cast the proper privacy spells to make sure they weren’t observed. “I’d almost think you wanted us to get caught, telling me to meet you here,” he mused.

“Tonight isn’t about what I want.” Draco stepped out of the shadows, moving slowly as he walked over to meet Harry. Long fingers worked to open Harry’s robes. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry’s throat went completely dry, his knees weak. He leaned back against the door, needing the support. “I already told you.”

“You told me a part of it.” Draco slid down Harry’s body, pressing the robes open, smiling through kisses against his stomach. “Good. No trousers.”

No trousers, only his boxers under the robes, and it had been pure torture during dinner. He had been hard for over an hour now, and as Draco leaned in, nuzzling against the fabric of his boxers, Harry groaned at the added sensation.

“Tell me what you want,” Draco murmured.

Harry’s hand fell to the top of Draco’s head, fingers stroking through soft hair, hips shifting as he urged Draco’s head closer to his anxious prick.

A small noise of negation, and Draco pulled back. He balanced on his heels looking up at Harry. “Tell me,” he ordered softly. “I will do anything you ask of me tonight, Harry, but only if you speak the words.”

Breath tangled in his throat, and Harry’s head fell back against the wall. “Take off my boxers,” he managed to say, spreading his legs slightly for balance once they were gone. When nothing else happened, no further touch, Harry moaned and tried to find words. “L—lick me. Please, Draco.”

He watched as Draco leaned in and teasingly swirled his tongue around the tip of Harry’s cock, tasting the droplet there, then sliding down towards the base. He licked him like a lollipop and that only made Harry ache for more.

“Hands—” he groaned. “Hands on my balls. Take me in your mouth oh bloody fuck, Draco, yes, just like that.” He cried out wordlessly as Draco’s hot, wet mouth engulfed him. Then he stopped thinking, just slowly moved his hips, fucking Draco’s mouth in careful motion until Draco pulled away.

Draco wore a half smirk and nothing else, his robes having disappeared at some point while he blew Harry. “What else?” he asked, one eyebrow rising. His pale skin was flushed, lips soft and bruised where they’d been wrapped around Harry’s prick. Harry’s gaze dropped to Draco’s lap, where he could see his prick, long and thin and hard, jutting out.

“Fuck me.” Harry considered himself lucky to have gotten those words out, weak as his knees were, and clouded as his mind had become. If anyone ever asked him if Draco had bespelled him, he might say yes, simply because he lost his mind whenever he saw him. Thankfully, the feeling seemed to be mutual.

Draco stood slowly, coming in close, pressing Harry back against the wall. Their cocks rubbed together, and Harry anchored himself with one leg hooked around Draco’s thigh. Draco leaned in, nuzzling Harry’s throat. “That isn’t all of it, Harry. You’re hiding something that you want me to do to you. What is it?”

“But I’m not,” Harry protested. He gripped Draco’s arse, thrusting, feeling their cocks slide against each other, groaning at the contact. He dipped his own head, nipping at soft skin, loving the sound Draco made as if he, too, were starting to teeter on the edge of control. “I want you to fuck me. I love the feel of your fingers in me, I love when you slide your thick cock into me, and I love when you lose control and start pounding like you can’t possibly get deep enough. I love when you make me scream.”

 _I love_ _you_.

Oh. Well. That thought was unexpected.

Harry swallowed, winding down, staring bewildered at Draco as the truth finally got through to him. Now he knew what he wanted, but how could he ever ask for that?

Draco was panting softly, returning each thrust with a stroke of his own. “Tell me, Harry,” he murmured. He dragged Harry down with him, and the two stumbled to the makeshift mattress on the floor that Draco had conjured earlier. Harry lay on his back, Draco between his legs. Harry had no idea how he managed it, but Draco’s fingers were slick and two slid into him quickly, making him moan at the invasion. 

“You’re hiding something,” Draco said. “You want something of me, and you’ll tell me before I let you come.”

“I want—” Harry stopped, voice strangled. He couldn’t just say it. They’d been— this had been going on since fall, since they all arrived back at Hogwarts after the war for their eighth year. He remembered the first time, when he’d come up to the Astronomy tower and found Draco already there, contemplating the place where Dumbledore fell. Nothing more than kisses that night, and yet, they’d both returned the next night, and the next, until it had come to this. This need. This fixation. This—

Harry cried out as Draco’s fingers pressed deeply into him, crooking and stroking at his prostate. “Draco… _Merlin_ … please…”

Draco stretched over him, replacing fingers with the tip of his cock, just barely pressing into Harry. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Tell me, then I will fuck you into oblivion.”

He was a _Gryffindor_. Harry opened his mouth, and just blurted it out. “I want you to tell me how you feel about me.”

Everything stopped then, with Draco half inside him, poised on his elbows, body trembling over Harry. “…What?”

In for a knut… “I love you,” Harry said, then swallowed hard because he’d just bared his soul to someone who used to be his mortal enemy. He hadn’t meant to fall for him; he’d meant for this to just be brilliant sex. But somewhere along the way things had changed. Harry tilted his hips, pushing up against Draco, taking him in. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, voice rough, but clear. “I want to feel you so far inside me that it’s like we’re one person. I want to hear that sound you make when you’re just about to come, when you can’t hold back any longer and you lose control and spill inside of me. I want to know how I make you feel.”

“Fuck.” Draco pushed into Harry, not holding back as Harry’s legs wrapped around him. Harry held on tight, bracing, groaning as Draco seemed to burrow deeper with every stroke.

“Tell me,” Harry begged, the words ending in a low moan. “Please, tell me.”

Draco worked his knees under Harry, lifting his arse, tilting him so that he could drive in even further. He pushed up on his hands, staring down at Harry, his eyes dark and stormy grey.

Harry’s breath caught, waiting.

Draco’s eyes closed, and the words were almost too low for Harry to hear. “I love you too, you bloody idiot.”

 _Yes_.  Harry gripped Draco’s bum and lifted, pushing against him, body bowing. That was all it took for Draco to move again, driving into him over and over until both of them came, shuddering and shaking, shouts echoing off the walls.

The world came back slowly, Draco half collapsed over Harry while Harry stroked gentle patterns over his skin.

“Did you mean it?” Harry murmured.

“Course I meant it,” Draco muttered back. “But don’t think it means I’m ready to go shouting it from the rooftops.”

Harry tried to imagine Draco doing just that, then imagined the shocked expressions their friends might wear. He snorted softly. “That’s fine. I just— I wanted to know.”

“Mmph.” There was a long moment of silence, then Draco slid to one side, curling along the length of Harry’s body, one leg looped lazily over him, a possessive arm about his waist to gather him in. “Sleep now,” he muttered.

Harry smiled. Sleep, yes, in the arms of his lover. There wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
